


Inclinations

by TeamAroPickle



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Elizabeth and her Leicester, F/M, Multi Chapter, Orchids and Rooks, Vicbourne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamAroPickle/pseuds/TeamAroPickle
Summary: The Queen and her Leicester quickly realize how fruitless it is to continually place public expectation above the mechanisms of fate and their own inclinations. With a selfish choice, leading to much grumbling within political and royal circles, some violations of duty ultimately turn out to be worth the risk. (Multi-chapter; Vicbourne)





	1. La douleur exquise

_La douleur exquise - the pain that comes from wanting and desiring someone you cannot have._

* * *

The rows of copper trees acted like walls on either side of her, keeping her path straight and direct as she nervously made her way further into the garden. Without the guidance of the fading trees, she might have lost her nerve entirely, and tried to turn around; but now, they were urging her onwards. She had been told Lord M was in the garden somewhere, yet she was unsure where he might be precisely tucked away within the impressive grounds. Wandering around in search for him did, however, give her time to think.

He was certain to reject her - she knew this – but, she could not go on feeling the way she did without him being aware. She was sure he had some idea, she was not exactly subtle at times about her preference for his company. However, the idea of a queen involved in any sort of relationship with her Prime Minister was absurd, and he had already made it quite clear that her safety and wellbeing was his top priority. Getting involved with him in anyway was a sure way to bring both their standings into question.

And then there was the question, the paramount question really, of if he returned her feelings. She had never had much opportunity to read the expressions and body language of men, having been kept too sheltered – but, she knew enough. Recently, she had taken a keen interest in watching his countenance in moments when he was sure no one was watching. Her Lord M was very adept at schooling his features, a byproduct of being an excellent politician, but he was not so convincing around her. Any small compliment she gave him, or indication of her partiality towards him, and he would always begin his retort with a slight, endearing stutter. He always recovered quickly from this lapse, but his face was all too telling. His eyebrows quirked up in a confused sort of surprise; and then after, he never could look her in the eye, instead staring lower – Victoria hoped it was somewhere around her lips.

She could not be sure of his affection off these signs alone, but it did not matter. Yesterday, the realization had hit her hard that she was entirely in love with the man. As absurd as even she, being considered a naïve queen, knew it to be - she could not imagine not having him with her always. Just the utter heartbreak she felt when he had almost resigned as Prime Minister was nearly enough to break her. After that, she knew for certain that no matter who her "keepers" intended for her to marry, they would not do. She had already given her heart.

As she neared the mouth of the lane, the edge of a dark figure peeked its way around an aged statue. She knew it to be Lord M immediately, his long legs and sharply carved profile gave him away as he gazed up at the flock of birds above him. Her shoes must have crunched the dead leaves loud enough to give her away, for he turned his head to look in her direction. Lifting the black veil from her face, she made sure he could tell it was her – although, he could recognize her small frame anywhere.

Instantly on his feet, his position gave Victoria the vantage point to fully take in the sight of Lord M, and he of her. The green coat and entirely casual way of keeping the collar open on his shirt was going to make this already stressful conversation that much more difficult. Her heart began to gallop along even faster.

The moment he had heard her approaching, he had known it was her – somehow, it could not have been anyone else. However, no matter how many times, or in how many circumstances he saw her, she was always a vision that immediately caused him unease. He could not quite make heads or tails of what he was more nervous about: what she would say to him, or perhaps of what he do and say to her. He could never seem to make proper decisions when she was concerned. It was a frightening thought, which he fought down an exasperated smile, his own heart caught in his throat. It felt as if it weren't beating at all.

"Ah, it is you, Ma'am," he said, finding his breath. "I couldn't tell," he added with a playful smirk. Perhaps with some lightness to the conversation, she would not notice how apprehensive he was becoming – obviously this visit was not going to be about political matters.

She gave him a nervous smile, "The butler said you would be here."

"I come here for the rooks," he said as he looked up at the dark birds upon their perches, now thankful to have an excuse to look away from her. "They're sociable animals. A gathering like this is called a 'parliament'. Altogether more civilized than their human equivalent."

Lord M knew his rambling was apparent, but something about _her_ being here, at Brocket Hall, standing before him, made this whole thing seem so much more intimate.

But, Victoria didn't seem to notice his nerves, too distracted by her own. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Lord M," she said with a high voice. "But I had to talk to you."

"Brocket Hall is honored, Ma'am."

"I have come here incognito, of course."

He had to smirk at that, "Of course…But your presence cannot be entirely disguised."

Victoria hesitated then, willing herself to get her next words out before they dried up, "Yesterday, I realized something."

He stepped up to her, close, "Yes, Ma'am?"

"I think perhaps now I'm speaking as a woman and not as a queen," she said shakily, "At the beginning… I thought that you were the father I never had."

At once, a shard of ice lodged itself into his chest. He knew it was absurd – he _should_ want her to regard his as a father, but somehow just the thought of that dynamic between them left him in agony. But she went on to interrupt those feelings, only to make way for ones much worse.

"But now I feel, I know…that…you are the only companion I could ever desire."

His world seemed to crack around the edges. Everything that he dreaded was now fully realized; and, yet, the very desire that he hadn't dared put into words or thoughts before was also known. A humming, one that had steadily grown louder in his brain, reached a crescendo. He knew he had very little time left to recover, but he could not seem to dislodge the disbelieving heart from his throat. As fast as the bizarre mix of alarm and elation had come, the wave of agony came on strong. How endearing it was to have the heart of this girl, and yet how terrifying. But, it could not be between them – ever – and that is what he must make clear to her. He would have to break her heart now, and end up stomping upon his own in the process.

But, he struggled with the words even he did not want to hear, and instead slowly took her gloved hands in his own. Never before had he felt as miserable, yet humbled, as he did now with her large blue eyes taking in every detail of his face – excruciatingly trusting.

"Did you know that…that rooks mate for life?" he began with a pained smile. He tried to look at her in the eyes, but it was proving easier to look down at their joined hands instead. "Every year, they…they build their nests together…renew all those little civilities that make a marriage sparkle," he croaked, "I think we could learn…much from them…If I had just spent more time watching the rooks…my wife would have felt more attended to- "

"She should never have left you," Victoria interrupted. He turned his head to finally look at her, pleading with her silently to understand, but she went on, "I would never do such a thing."

At this, he studied her and saw, unsurprisingly, her sincerity. "No… I believe when you give your heart it will be without hesitation," he said, "But you cannot give it to me."

"I think you have it already," Victoria said earnestly, paining him further.

"No, you must keep it intact for someone else," he replied, only able to speak at her lips, "For I have no use for it, you see."

 _Liar,_ he thought, but willed himself on for the final lie, and the ending blow, by releasing her hands.

"Like a rook, I mate for life."

"I see…"

Lord M could feel the small, fake smile plastered onto his face, as if there were anything gentle or pleasant about what he had just done. But, he knew he could not manage anything else, lest he crack and take it all back. Just looking into her eyes to see her process his words was enough to make him burn.

"Then I am sorry to have disturbed you, Lord Melbourne," Victoria finished.

Steeling herself not to cry until she had turned away, she promptly left embarrassed and broken. As she quietly stepped away, she could feel his eyes on her, but she left with as much decorum as she could muster.

He knew she was crying as he watched her narrow form stride away. _You're a Bastard,_ he thought. The temptation to call out to her, to run after her like some teenager was stronger than he had feared, but he kept himself still. Lord M looked up at the trees once more, looking at nothing.

He had to do what he just did – no matter his own feelings, and no matter hers.

He did not know when he had started to feel in such a way for her; perhaps it had come on slowly. Perhaps it was the many rides out they had shared, the strolls around the palace together, the countless visits, the daily letters, and the way she had not let him go when he had almost resigned his position. He had slowly grown fond of her, fonder than he should have, and now he was here in this mess along with her. The papers and his Tory opponents had all read the signs correctly it seemed, calling her "Mrs. Melbourne", but he had of course dismissed it as no more than talk. He had not been blind, however, to what was happening within his own heart; just too frightened and panicked to acknowledge it.

The nagging desire to open his greenhouses again had been a clue. As had the sleepless nights thinking of nothing but her. But, he had been sure it was one sided; him being much more her senior, he was quite assured that the young queen thought of him as nothing more than a fatherly mentor. It was incomprehensible to think that, moments ago, she had bravely come to him and poured out her heart at his feet - returned his affections. And to repay her, he had stomped on her heart in a panic. Try as he had to have been gentle, rejection of love was never a gentle business; especially when none of what he said had been true.

Lord M stayed out in the garden for an hour longer, turning over thoughts until his mind was raw. When the light had begun to fade, and the temperature had gone quite cold, he retreated back inside. As he made his way in, he half wished Victoria would still be there, obstinately remaining at his door, ready to reason with him again. But, no carriage was to be seen out on the lane, just cobblestones speckled with moss. They looked as gloomy as he felt under the greying light. No, she was not here any longer, but thoughts of her would not be leaving him any time soon.


	2. Mamihlapintapai

_Mamihlapintapai –Yaghan; a wordless, yet meaningful look between two people who both desire to initiate something, but both are too scared to initiate themselves._

* * *

 The conversation with Lord M, which had been unfathomably heartbreaking at first, now left Victoria feeling dejected and sour. She filled her time with trivial conversations with her ladies, and playing with Dash; all of which had successfully kept thoughts regarding Lord M at bay. However, that was during her waking moments, for when the sun set, her nights were spent with angry tears tracking down her cheeks.

But, she knew he would be there tonight.

She had not invited him personally, but she had also not interjected with an argument when his invitation was being discussed. As much as she did not want to see him again…she desperately needed to see him again.

Frowning at her image in the mirror, she adjusted the blonde wig. Despite being displeased with her lack of will, Victoria could not deny the costume suited her; the fair locks certainly complemented her eyes, but it was the knowledge of whom she was dressed as which thrilled her most. Queen Elizabeth I had become something of a favorite of hers as of late. Knowing that she was the Virgin Queen, who had refused to marry, was an empowering notion for Victoria. If she could not marry the man she wanted, she would just not marry at all.

Not wanting to focus again on how painful the alternative would be, she let herself become distracted with fixing her ruff, which, on her long neck, constantly slanted one way or the other.

“What beautiful flowers.”

The Queen looked up to find Lady Portman admiring a corsage that had been left on the table. The small white bundle was a precious gift that Victoria had not been able to throw away out of spite, as much as she had been tempted. Instead, she had refused to look at the exotic flowers, placing them on the edge of the polished table, out of sight.

“They're orchids,” Victoria said stiffly.

“Where did they come from?”

Victoria turned away from her lady. “Brocket Hall,” she answered.

It was distressing how instantly the mention of anything associated with _him_ turned her mood. Victoria was rapidly becoming more ill-tempered with each word.

“But I thought William had closed the greenhouses after Caro - He must have opened them again for _you_ ,” Lady Portman said, astonished.

Victoria was at once taken aback by this, but swiftly quelled it, schooling her features, “I do not think he would do anything for me.”

Portman studied her for a brief moment, “Do you know how hard it is to grow orchids? You misjudge him, Ma'am.”

“He cares only for the memory of his wife,” said Victoria, the memory of his rejection stinging.

Lady Portman just stared, considering Victoria keenly. Emma knew Melbourne well, well enough to know that a great change in him had come about ever since he’d taken up being the Queen’s Prime Minister. Knowing that his greenhouses where open again, after all this time, was a shock, but not all together unbelievable. However, the way he continually looked at Victoria, regarding her with his eyes, was telling enough. For this reason, she had let the Queen take her carriage to Brocket Hall, despite how much of a risk it was – such was the duty of one of the Queen’s Ladies. But, when she had later seen the Queen’s depressed spirits following the trip, Emma was able to gather what her visit may have been about. William had done the right thing letting the Queen down, but a woman should at least know why a man has refused her.

And the reason was not, in large part, because the man still had a lingering attachment to his late wife.

“Is that what he told you?” asked Lady Portman, “Then that is what he wants you to believe.”

Before Victoria could ask anything of that confession, Lady Portman left the dressing room. In her wake, Victoria remained sitting, now staring fixedly at the pale orchids.

The orchids grown and picked just for her.

* * *

_Victoria's POV:_

I didn’t find dancing with the Russian Grand Duke quite as awful as I had the first time, but perhaps this was because the Duke was on his best behavior tonight - busy trying to best Prince George.

My cousin, the prince, was not one for pleasant conversation; the Duke, however, was as charming as he was dashing, and I had grown to be quite fond of him. Neither were men I could, or would, ever marry, but, for the time being, I at least needed to be civil. This feat proved exceedingly difficult in regards to George, a brat as stiff and haughty as he ever was.

I grew weary of dancing, and made up my mind to take a turn around the party. I began to drift through one room to the next, silently observing the guests – most did not look my way, a welcome change from constantly being on display. Perhaps the wig disguised me well.

I eventually came to a small room already filled with merry guests, all of whom were taking advantage of the unlimited supply of drink. At the center of the space stood Prince George himself, along with Uncle Cumberland. I made my way forward with the naïve intention of greeting them when their conversation finally met my ears. They were discussing me, I knew at once, and the prince appeared to be carrying himself in the same conceited manner as was typical of him these days.

“Why, her legs are shorter than my arms,” the prince said with a nasty laugh.

“Imbecile,” Uncle growled, “Don't you want to be the most important man in the country?”

“I might be the midget's husband, but I would not be master in my own house.”

I took a step closer, and at once the pair of them spun around, apparently sensing my approach. Knowing immediately I had overheard their rudeness, they attempted a hasty act of chivalry and bowed.

The reaction might have been comical if the words spoken hadn’t stung quite so acutely.

I had long been sensitive about my height – or lack thereof. Constantly teased and reminded by Mama and her lurking spider, Sir Conroy. Years of jabs about my lack of stature had affected me greatly, but now to have it thrown back at me by a man who was supposed to be a candidate for my hand – I felt more diminished than ever.

I could not make up my mind whether I was more hurt or angry while I shuffled back to the dance floor. No partners were about, and so I attempted to appear causal as I drifted around, vexed. Suddenly, the entire affair felt overdone; the desire to feign some ailment, and retire early seemed highly appealing.

“May I have the pleasure, Ma'am?”

That rough voice, one that I would know anywhere, effectively pulled me from my thoughts. There Lord Melbourne stood, done up in full costume, looking expectantly at me. Though relieved as I should have been that he was swooping in to save me yet again, I could not resist the desire to be petty. I pulled out my dance card, making a meal of checking it pointlessly, “I think this one is free.”

Lord M smiled sheepishly, and stepped towards me, enveloping my hand with his large one. His other hand reached back behind me and molded against the curve of my back as he pulled me closer. This normally would have set me alight, therefore considering our tense circumstances, I began to feel as if I were being incinerated under the pressure of his touch. Lord M was taller than average, but in comparison to my stature, he was absolutely towering. At our proximity, in order to look into his eyes properly, I had to force my chin up most severely. Eventually I met his eyes, a vivid pale green, and I suddenly could not tell where my anger had gone to – curiously, it was so easy to forget it just then.

“Have you danced with George yet?” he politely asked.

“He wants to dance with a queen…not necessarily with me.”

“Then he's more of a fool then I suspected,” Lord M murmured, displeased.

I could not hope to suppress my smile at that – his reliable and genuine encouragement washed away all doubt the encounter with Prince George had inspired.

But I was still cross with Lord M, regardless of his chivalry.

“I wasn't sure if I would dance with you tonight,” I told him.

His small smile fell then, and I could see a twinge of hurt in his eyes. But, quickly, Lord M replaced any of his regret with a crooked smirk, the hand on my back shifting slightly.

“It would be unkind for Elizabeth to refuse her Leicester,” he murmured roughly.

My breath caught, and I took in his costume once more; the green cloth was a stunning compliment to his eyes, but the large feather in his cap completed the outfit. The gravity carried by his choice in costume, however, was what really stunned me.

“Leicester was her companion?” I asked shakily.

“He was,” Lord M answered, “He did have a wife, but then she died.”

The parallels were becoming too much for me as we seemed to become impossibly close, the rest of the dancers fading away around us. I was not even sure they were still playing the same song we had begun dancing to.

“So, even though he was free, they never married?” I asked.

“I think both he and the Queen understood they were not in a position to marry,” Lord M said, his voice lowering along with his eyes, their gaze burning onto my lips, “Whatever their inclination…”

_Inclination._

Abruptly, the room spun, and my ears began to ring. The only thing in my line of sight was Lord M’s serious face. It conveyed everything he was leaving unsaid.

_Whatever their inclination…_

So, it was true what Lady Portman had said; he did feel the same as I.

The elation I had expected was traded for shock, and I was quickly too upset to feel anything else. Lord M had lied to me at Brocket Hall in order to protect me – protect me from what a marriage with him would do to my reputation and rule. Though he felt the same affection, he could not surrender to it; he felt it to be his duty to withhold.

My heart felt as if it were breaking anew. I had been so cross with him because I’d childishly thought he was a pining widower, but I had been utterly mistaken. In truth, his feelings for me must have run so deep, he cared more for my security than his desires. By letting me go, he was making a sacrifice.

Did he truly consider himself such a poor match?

Coming out of my stupor, I noticed Lord M had let go of me completely and had backed out of the room. As the rest of the guests continued on, ignorant and unperturbed, the last wisp of his coat whipped around the corner of the door.

But, I could not let him leave like this. I could not let him share the story of Elizabeth and her Leicester, a tale clearly discussing something much more relevant than a long-since-passed Queen and her companion. _My_ Leicester was getting away again, but I couldn’t let him go so easily.

Tears had begun to form in my eyes, from frustration or desperation I did not know. I hurried from the ballroom in search of him, successfully avoiding any guests who might notice my quickly crumbling façade. Being as short as I was, it was difficult to see if he was ahead of me, but I could tell he was fleeing the party with almost as much urgency as I was pursuing him. Room after room I chased him until, at last, I came to the West Hallway, which was, mercifully, devoid of guests or footmen.

Rushing hurriedly down the corridor was the object of my hunt – long feather flapping with every lengthy stride.

“Lord M!” my voiced cracked as I called out.

The tall figure stopped at once, but did not turn, instead staring straight ahead, shoulders slumped. Though the lack of response was painful, I was thankful he could not see me with tears were now streaming down my cheeks.  

“Ma’am.”

A long silence stretched out between us - I could find nothing to say. Rushing after him had seemed like such a natural thing to do, but now I could not find anything to tell him. There was nothing he did not know, and yet I still felt as if he did not understand the fullness of my emotions at all.

“Those were lovely orchids…Lady Portman told me something interesting about them.”

Lord M’s back tensed, and he bent his head down to look at the floor. “Did she now?” he asked, almost too low to hear.

“Yes…she-she said that you hadn’t opened your greenhouse for quite some time. She said that there must be a reason that you opened them now.”

Finally, he turned to face me. His expression, which was guarded, instantly softened as he took in my wet cheeks. “Until recently, I hadn’t felt as if it were worth opening them, Ma’am. But, then…I took on the job of aiding you, and…the longing to grow something again came back to me.”

I wanted to cry at the tenderness of his confession, but the urge to scream at him came on strongly too. This business of veiling what we really wanted to say in thin analogies, anecdotes, and intimations was driving me mad.

It did not help matters that standing in an abandoned corridor like this with Lord M was a painful reminder of our encounter at the coronation ball. Despite having had far too much champagne that night, I remembered the incident vividly; most especially, the conflict which had played out on Lord M’s face when I had practically thrown myself on him. Now, I would give anything to have that budding relationship with Lord M back - instead of this tense and twisted madness where my heart had already been laid bare.

A rustling and a click of a heel echoed behind me, informing us to an intruder. I spun around, panicked to have been found – even in a seemingly innocent situation – only to see a footman, who was doing a poor job pretending to not be interested.

A light breath of wind glanced my neck, and the heat from Lord M’s closeness disappeared. I turned to find him vanished from my side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the title and summary change, but I wasn't feeling it. I am going to keep a word per chapter theme going though. 
> 
> But, as always, please let me know what you are thinking, and do not hesitate to point out errors (I try to catch them all but tenses sometimes slip though). 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time - I really appreciate you guys!


	3. Kilig

_Kilig – Tagalog; the sublime euphoria experienced right after something good or passionate happens._

* * *

Seeing cousin Albert again had been a shock, however, the appeal he had brought - the interesting and foreign air which surrounded him – had quickly turned sour. Albert was cold, uptight, and wholly full of himself. Not in the smooth and arrogant way that the Russian Grand Duke held himself, nor even in the childish way that Prince George conducted his manner. No, Albert was awkward in his superiority; social niceties and casual manner seemed to be beneath him - instead he praised truth and facts. The fake righteousness he extruded put me off immediately, much to the displeasure of everyone in the family - except Albert. 

It seemed the feeling of annoyance was a mutual one.

At night, when I sat curled up on my bench at the window, I wondered if I would be able to marry Albert, especially since everyone around me assured me of the benefits of such a match. But, quickly a pain began to form in my chest, as if a large hole was being torn there. Thoughts of a life with Albert - where I would be expected to subject myself to baring his children, and devote myself as a wife does - began pouring into my head. Most excruciating of all was the knowledge that if a marriage to Albert were to occur, I would no longer be able to associate with Lord M. Not, at least, with the same frequency I was currently accustomed to. I could speak with him at formal gatherings, but not too much, and I would certainly not be allowed to visit him or even write with any regularity.

I couldn’t bear even imagining it.

The façade of a being the willing wife to someone I did not love would be hard enough, but to consider a life devoid of the man who already had my heart…it was not a life I could see living. Just looking at Albert now, as he played _my_ piano across the parlor, elicited merely one thought: _the wrong man is sitting there_. The correct man, whose presence I felt keenly across the table, was already here with me.

The week ahead was not going to be a pleasant one - not with Mama and Uncle Leopold forcing Albert on me. Countless thinly disguised attempts to woo me into proposing were awaiting me. I was, at present, surrounded in a den of enemies.

All I had to do was outflank them.

* * *

 _Third Person POV_ :

Three days after the princes Albert and Ernest had left, Uncle Leopold along with them, Lord M had still not returned any of Victoria’s letters.

At his silence, the usual amalgam of paranoid worries rampaged within her brain: was he ill? Was he upset with her? Had he grown weary of her affection? Was he hiding from her?

When the morning of the fourth day faded, again with no letter, the Queen turned once more to her ladies for aid.

“Emma, might I use your carriage? I’m afraid I can no longer wait for a response from Lord Melbourne. I very much need to go to Brocket Hall – today,” Victoria said, not offering room for refusal, or an explanation.

Though she could feel the wordless exchange between her other ladies, Victoria kept her eyes steady on Lady Portman’s.

“Of course, Ma’am,” Portman replied innocently.

In a rush, the Queen was situated in Emma’s carriage, accompanied only by the coachman out front. In her haste, she had neglected appointing a chaperone, the same oversight she had made during the last visit to Lord M’s home. Though the action lacked propriety, she could not help but feel glad for the privacy this afforded her. Without others keeping watch, she hoped she and Lord M could speak frankly.

Her anxiety had made the journey feel instant, and it felt as though only seconds had passed before she was being handed out of the carriage. The red brick of Brocket Hall was a welcome change from the dreary and colorless cream stone which adorned almost every royal building in London. However, nothing about the surrounding aesthetics could distract Victoria from her buzzing nerves.

Once recognizing her as the Queen, the butler wasted no time in leading the way to Lord M. Victoria was led through a paned door, through which one could see nothing but dense greenery. Once through the threshold, it was easy to forget how anxious she was. Enormous plants, whose leaves where larger than her head, loomed over and all around the Queen. Huge and colorful flowers poked through the sea of green, resting peacefully on their stems amongst the endless vines. The glass panes that made up the walls and ceiling were almost completely obscured by the growth, though they did let in the soft light of the early afternoon sun.

“I can manage from here, thank you,” Victoria quietly told the butler, who quickly dipped his head and bowed out of the room.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Victoria started forward through the fragrant, hot rows of flora. Lord M was not difficult to find, having his chair and makeshift workstation situated by one of the orchid pots at the heart of the room. He himself was atop a ladder, his back to approaching visitors, tending to a gangly tree of some strange genus. Victoria stopped to silently watch; the tenderness and care he took with every fragile petal and leaf he came into contact with was so reminiscent of his manner with her.

“Morris, I do hope you closed the door, those Jasminums don’t seem to take well to a draft,” Lord M murmured absently. He was too distracted to realize it was not, in fact, his butler who had intruded upon his privacy.

A giggle threatened to bubble up in Victoria’s throat, “Not to worry, I believe your Jasminums are quite content.”

Lord M whipped around to face her. The rapid change of his expression, from surprise to awestruck, had Victoria break into a wide grin despite herself.

“You have made yourself something of an Eden here, Lord M,” she told him cheekily.

He stayed looking at her for a beat or two, his mind reeling at her sudden presence. Eventually, he shook himself to sense and clamored down the ladder. “Yes, it, ah, has become quite diverting – a welcome distraction.” Once on the ground, he considered her again, “Is anything the matter, Ma’am. Don’t mistake me, I-I have always enjoyed your company, but…”

“No. Nothing is the matter. However, I did want to speak with you; you have not been returning my letters,” the Queen tried not to let the hurt seep through into her tone.

Lord M looked down guiltily, “I…did not think it _wise_ to distract you from your time with Prince Albert. I assumed leaving you to become better acquainted with him was the most…beneficial course.”

“You assumed wrong, Lord Melbourne,” corrected Victoria, too miffed to use her nickname for him. “In any case, the Coburgs have, fortunately, all left. They have returned home.”

At this information, Lord M looked away, battling with his unjustified satisfaction, “So, take it you did not find Prince Albert suitable, Ma’am?”

Victoria scoffed, “Not in the slightest. His ego is too large to make him pleasant, and he passes such harsh judgement on my every action, I cannot tell if he is cross with me, or just thinks me silly. He comments on everything, whether it be tactful to do so or not, and justifies it by saying that ‘truth is more honorable than flattery’.”

Lord M quietly listened to Victoria’s angry ramble with a small smile he hadn’t noticed pulling at his lips. He did not know whether he admired her fire and determination above her many other qualities, but seeing her distractedly grumble as she paced his greenhouse floor reminded him how much he adored her ferocity.

“…no, I do not think I shall ever marry. If I must only marry one of the ‘suitable’ men that are thrown at me, then I shall just have to refuse them all. Maybe after a few years, they will all realize the attempt is fruitless and finally leave me be,” Victoria said amidst her fuming.

Lord M was then reminded of a sobering fact, “Ma’am…I will not be your Prime Minister forever. You need someone entirely concrete to rely upon - a husband…who will honor you, cherish you, love and respect you.”

Just saying the words felt like daggers through him, though, at the same time, they felt inherently dangerous. As if he were not quite speaking about some abstract husband, but _someone_ in particular. He knew Victoria had caught onto this once her shocked wide eyes searched his face.

“Don’t say that, Lord M.”

“It’s the truth, Ma’am. I would want nothing more than to aid you until the end of my days, but that just simply is not possible – nor would it be responsible. A husband is meant to help guide you, and can act as an advisor should you need one - to stand by your side.”

Victoria turned away from him, her frustration mounting, and pretended to be entranced with a nearby fern, “Well, no one would be able to do it as well as you. Besides, I am sure I would not be able to stomach someone else.”

Neither one of them was sure if by “it” she meant the duties of being the Prime Minister, or the duties of the other, more intimate position. But, while Victoria’s frustration was just mounting, Lord M’s had reached its peak.

“Ma’am…you are young, so marrying right this instant is not paramount, but…you cannot keep refusing possible suitors. Eventually, you will need to marry! You cannot put it off forever,” he said heatedly. Reigning in his emotions, he added in almost a whisper, “Especially not on account of me…”

Victoria remained still for a few long moments, her arms wrapping around herself tightly, “I almost did propose to Albert. I knew he was the most appropriate choice, despite how much I disliked him… _do_ dislike him. But, every time I imagined my life with him, imagined having to love him, having children with him, sharing my very existence with him – I felt utterly repulsed. Not just repulsed because I didn’t care for him, but repulsed because…because it was all _wrong_.”

Lord M was at a loss, “Wrong. Wrong in what way, Ma’am?” he asked.

Victoria turned to face him, having reached the end of her patience, “Wrong because he is the wrong person!” Victoria cried. “Lord M…I know…I _know_ you would have no use for my heart – truly, I do understand. But, I meant what I said when I confessed that you already had it. It is done! I cannot take it back; I do not know when it entered into your possession, but before I had had any time to even think…it was gone.

“Becoming Queen and meeting you was a concoction of fate; forming a friendship was a choice, but falling in love with you was entirely out of my control! I have nothing of my heart to give anyone else now – just the thought makes me ill. It would be so unnatural a thing, because I cannot love anyone else! I feel as though I have gone mad! None of my thoughts, while awake or in dream, seem to be of anything but _you_. This is not the mere passing affection I had thought, it’s something so much worse. And- “

But Victoria could not go on with her tearful purge, for Lord M had stepped up close and took hold of her face with both hands, her jaw tightly cradled. She shut her eyes, unable to look him in the face as she continued to heave out upset gulps of air.

“Listen to me,” he told her with gentle sternness.

She refused to open her eyes still, and so he made the decision then to do away with decorum entirely.

“Victoria…” he whispered, shocking her enough to open her eyes. “You are not going mad. You are quite sane…” he trailed off thinking how dangerous this position was becoming. He pulled her into his chest instead, allowing her to cry into his shirt. Better to hold her than contend with the yearning spurred by the slight of her lips. “I am…beyond…grateful and humbled that you have given me such a gift as your heart, but I am not worth giving it to,” he continued, stroking her back with one hand, and her hair with the other. “What a cruel lie to have told you – that I would have no use for your heart. _That_ is the very issue – I do have use of your heart, too much use for it, in fact. But…it would not be the correct choice for either of us. Not for you, and not for the country. By allowing you to accept me, it would be selfish – I’d be a selfish, _old_ man, and you deserve so much better than me.”

“I do not want anything more than you – you are more than enough,” she sniffled after a time, her voice slightly muffled by his chest.

His hopes were elevating with every passing moment she was in his arms, and with every word shared between them. But, this was dangerous, ludicrous, and entirely unethical.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked in a whisper.

Victoria stilled under his hands, “I meant every word. I could not lie about this, and I would never lie to you.”

Lord M’s heart quickened, and surely Victoria could hear it, pressed against him as she was, “You had told me…that you felt a life with someone else would be unnatural – that the thought of it made you ill - because you could never…could never _love_ anyone else. Was that true?”

She knew what he was asking, the gravity of what was being confessed hitting her hard as she pulled away to look at him. “I meant every word,” she repeated evenly.

Somehow hearing it confessed out loud, without being under the guise of civilities or the prettily constructed analogies about “hearts” and “affections”, resolved him to his choice. Losing the restraint that had held him at bay, he dove down to capture her lips.

The tightening that had been building within Victoria’s chest reached its throbbing climax as her lips were tenderly manipulated by his. She had never been kissed before, but she could not imagine one could have a better experience than this. But, then, of course, the man currently pulling her towards him had been hard won – anticipation made every sensation sweeter.

They parted after a moment, Lord M resting his forehead upon hers, both breathing raggedly. But, the desire to touch again took Victoria over; she reached up on tip toe to snake her arms behind his neck, and pressed her mouth into his once more. His hands went to her waist and helped support her weight. He wanted her nearer, but to grasp her any closer would mean crushing her – it was as if any minute distance between them was still simply too far.

His head swimming, ears ringing, he felt as if it were _he_ who had gone mad. But, his baser mind could not bring itself to guilt, not recognizing the woman under his hands as the Queen, but rather the woman he had rapidly become infatuated with. The need to feel more of her prompted him to coax her lips apart.

Victoria let out a moan, barely contained within their conjoined mouths. The sound inspiring the pent-up beast inside him to rear its head, he slowly walked her backwards into the high-backed chair arranged by the orchid pot – _her_ orchids. He laid her down into it as he leaned over her, one knee bent to rest by her thigh while his left hand braced his weight against the chair back beside her head. Such a position was not at all gentlemanly, but neither, he supposed, was the entire situation.

After countless breakaways and rejoinings, Lord M forced himself to do what was prudent: releasing her lips and backing away. Neither could speak for several minutes as they regained their breaths, and fought to find their heads again.

“Forgive me, Ma’am,” he whispered hoarsely.

Victoria, who had had her finger running absentmindedly over her swollen lips, looked up, “Forgive you for what?”

“What I just did, regardless of how we both feel, was deeply improper. I should not have handled you thus,” he grumbled, running his hands through his hair.

“I’m glad you did…”

Oh, how he wished she would not say that. The feeling that he had taken advantage of her was already strong, but to think that he had riled her up into such a state…

He had been distracted in his thoughts enough to not have noticed her moving towards him. So, it was a jolt when he felt her take his hands in her small ones. He could tell she was feeling satisfied with herself after finally making him crack, her expression victorious. He made a point to look into her eyes and not let his gaze stray anywhere too tempting.

“I…do not think we can do that again,” he told her, pained.

Surprisingly, Victoria’s expression did not falter, “I think your wrong. I believe we can manage to be discrete…that is, if we do not go about solidifying this officially.”

His heart jumped at what she was suggesting, but reason forced him to object, “We _cannot_ , Ma’am. The circumstances are unchanged – in fact they may worse now that we acted upon- “

“It would be a morganatic marriage; one that the Tories would most likely not approve of because of your Whig affiliation, and one others would grumble at because of our positions. You would not have a title, and our children, if there be any, would not be eligible to succeed me.

“I have given the matter _some_ thought, you know. But…none of those obstacles are ones that I could ever value higher than how much I care for you,” she finished unwaveringly.

None of those obstacles bothered him much either, but thinking about how crucified Victoria would be by the press gave him great pause, “I do not want to be the reason you are attacked by the public, Ma’am.”

She scoffed, “If that is all you are worried about, we will be just fine. I have never paid the press much mind, and besides…” She reached up to weave her fingers together behind his neck, “They have been calling me ‘Mrs. Melbourne’ for quite some time now anyway.”

The title sent pleasant warmth to his extremities, “In any case, Ma’am, I think it would be wise to take some time and consider the matter at length.”

Victoria took a breath, but eventually agreed, “Alright. I will consider my proposal – however, I have conditions.”

His brows furrowed slightly, intrigued at where she could possibly be leading with this train of thought.

“First, you must kiss me again before I leave,” she said with jesting authority. Then, leaning in, she added, “also…when it is just you and I, you shall not refer to me as ‘Ma’am’.”

He almost laughed, instead settling for a tiny smirk and teased her back. With pursed lips and quirked brow, he pretended to consider his options, reaching out to rub a thumb across her bottom lip. “Well, regarding the former, I can certainly oblige you…However, the latter I must meet with a condition of my own,” he paused to cup her jaw, “I believe, when in private, you must do away with ‘Lord M’ - as endearing as I find that moniker, truthfully.”

Victoria’s eyes glazed, half lidded, “I-I believe I can agree to those terms.”

Lord M cocked an eyebrow, teasing her further. He wanted one last thing from her first.

Understanding came to Victoria, and she tilted her head back to let their lips ghost over each other, “I think I can agree to those terms… _William_.”

The sound of his name was like igniting a flame; he could no longer hold back from gathering her up to him to devour her lips.

The final kiss Victoria had requested from him was most certainly obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …meeting you was a concoction of fate; forming a friendship was a choice, but falling in love with you was entirely out of my control!”
> 
> This ^ line was an alteration of a line I saw on a gifset on Tumblr. I tried to find the original writer, but had no luck. If anyone knows who should be credited, please let me know!
> 
> And, as always, please review guys - the intense joy I get from seeing a new one in my inbox is...indescribable.

**Author's Note:**

> Hate it? Like it? Want something specific? Let me know, guys..


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